CHAPTER XXIV

DELIVERING THE GOODS

In spite of her indignant protests and her contrary plans, Hester appeared at the garage the next morning shortly before ten. There seemed nothing else for her to do. Hour after hour through the night the troubled girl had sought for some different course and had found nothing. Somehow this chauffeur had discovered her other name, the name she had given to the police, Jenny Regan, and she could not make any move until she found out how much more he knew. She could not carry out her plan of restitution nor confide in Betty Thompson until she learned what was back of Anton's ugly, threatening attitude. He was not bluffing, she felt sure of that.

The chauffeur received her with a business-like nod. He was cleaning the big car.

"Hello, little one! I took the old man to the station this morning. I'll be through in a minute. Sit down." And she watched him give the last skillful touches to the shining machine.

"Now, then, just a second to wash these paws of mine. There! And another to light a cigarette. Have one?" He offered her the open case.

"Thanks, I don't smoke."

He shrugged his shoulders. "You don't have to be so careful. We're alone."

She tried to hide her uneasiness under a careless tone.

"You're rather fresh this morning, Mr. Anton."

He drew up a wooden chair and seated himself so close to her that their knees were almost touching.

"Now listen," he said, and his eyes were on her keenly. "We're going to talk straight. I'll tell you how we stand and--first I'll tell you this. I like you, girlie, but I'm onto you."

"Onto me?" she echoed.

"Don't give me the baby stare. I know you've got pretty eyes, but you're a crook, kiddo, with a record in New York City, and you stole that bishop's purse!"

"You don't say!" she laughed scornfully. "Anything else?"

"Yes. I want to be in on the game. I figure that something went wrong after you swiped the leather that day on the train--you slipped a cog somehow, and--you came up here. I don't know why you came, but--you're going to tell me."

"Indeed!" she mocked.

"You may not find it so funny in a minute."

There was something sinister in his tone that filled her with terror.

"You--you say you like me and--then you accuse me of frightful things," she faltered.

"Nothing frightful about it! You got away with five thousand pounds. Fine! I read about it in the newspapers. Here!" He drew a folded clipping from his pocket. "'One occupant of the carriage was Miss Jenny Regan, an American lady, who succeeded in convincing the police that she had nothing to do with the robbery.' Oh, no, nothing! Clever girl, Miss Jenny Regan, but now she'll have to show me."

The chauffeur laughed with cynical satisfaction, and his gold tooth gleamed. How Hester hated him!

"Then you think I am this American woman, Miss Jenny--what was her name?"

"Regan. Yes, I know you are."

"How do you know it?"

He searched in his breast pocket, then in his side pockets, and finally in his cigarette case.

"Ah! Here it is. I put it in the cigarette case to protect it." He produced a small square of white paper, and held it before her eyes with a smile of triumph. "Ever see this before, kiddo?"

Hester's face went white, and all the strength seemed to go out of her body as she read the postscript of her own letter to Rosalie, the fateful letter that she had torn in two and thrown into the fireplace. By some whim of fate the fluttering fragment that had sailed to Anton's feet, after the curate's well-meant scattering of the pieces, was a portion of this letter, and contained, in the girl's own handwriting, the most damaging words of the epistle: "Please remember not to address me as Jenny Regan, but as Hester Storm!"

"Rather jars you, don't it?" he said as he watched her. "I suppose you'll say it isn't your writing? Want me to compare it with the note you sent me?"

"It is my writing," she admitted, "it's from a letter I wrote to my sister, but that doesn't make me a thief."

"Ah, it's your writing! Then you go under two names?"

"I may have had a reason for--taking another name."

"I'll bet you had a reason! And you were in the railway carriage when this purse was stolen?"

"I--I didn't say so."

"Well, were you? I want to know."

She hesitated a moment, then flung him a look of defiance.

"Yes, I was. What of it? You read what the paper said. I had nothing to do with the robbery."

Anton smiled. "Excuse me, girlie, the paper said you succeeded in convincing the police that you had nothing to do with it. Which isn't the same thing. Now don't get snappy." He patted her playfully on the knee.

The hot blood mounted to Hester's cheeks.

"Keep your hands off me," she warned him. "And, if you think yourself cleverer than the police you'd better offer them your services."

The words were hastily spoken and immediately regretted. If there was one thing in the world Hester wished to avoid it was any entanglement with Scotland Yard. The very name made her shiver.

"Not a bad idea!" reflected the chauffeur. "I may try it, if I can't fix up a deal with you." Here he lighted another cigarette. "But don't you worry, we'll make a deal all right."

"What kind of a deal?"

"I'll help you out of the tangle you're in and we'll whack up on the five thousand."

"You still think I took that purse?"

"Sure, you took it."

"If I had five thousand pounds would I be sewing in a place like this? Would I?"

He thought a moment, frowning. "I know, that's a good line of talk, but--I tell you there was a kink in the job, and--see here, what was it? What ever brought you to this Godforsaken place?"

"What ever brought you here?"

"I have to earn my living."

"Well, are you the only one?"

"Besides, I was working for Baxter; I came with him, but you dropped down out of nowhere--with a fake name."

"That name seems to worry you, Mr. Anton."

"Jenny Regan? Just a little. I happen to know who the lady is. One of the slickest thieves we've turned out. And she don't have to do sewing for a living, either. I guess not. Come, kiddo, do we make the deal?"

"No!" she answered fiercely.

"Little spitfire! I'll tame you yet."

"Try it," she said.

The chauffeur rose quietly and went to a shelf, where he took down a box of paper.

"Just to show you how easy it is," he continued, returning to the girl. "I take this sheet of paper--so, and this pencil--so, and I write to Scotland Yard that Jenny Regan, who was mixed up in the bishop's purse affair, is not an American lady, the way they thought, but an American pickpocket, well known at Police Headquarters in New York City."

"It's a lie!"

"You must be pretty well known for me to have heard of you. Then I tell 'em this dangerous crook is hiding in Ippingford under the name of Hester Storm. How about it? Think that will help your game any?"

"You--you wouldn't do that?" trembled the girl.

"I wouldn't?" He felt that her courage was breaking, and he pushed his advantage. "Let me tell you this, little one, that letter will be written and sent to-day if you don't come off your haughty perch. Now, then?"

She saw herself beaten; this man was relentless, he would stop at nothing, and--she must make the best terms she could.

"How do I know you'll--play fair?" she hesitated. "There's a reward offered for information about that purse and----"

"A reward of a hundred pounds! What's a hundred pounds with five thousand to divide? Do you take me for a fool?"

"No."

"Well?"

Hester was accustomed to quick decisions. She had learned in a hard school to judge men, and she knew this scoundrel was acting only in a spirit of greed. There was no danger of his betraying her.

"All right," she yielded in a low tone, "I--I'll come down."

"Good girl!"

"I took the purse from the bishop but his nobs squealed before I could make my getaway, and when the coppers came in I was very near caught with the goods, only----"

"Only what?"

"Only there was a lady in the carriage, a friend of the bishop's, and--she had a golf bag with her, and--say, boy, I worked a new stunt." Unconsciously Hester was dropping back into the Tenderloin vernacular.

Anton pulled excitedly at his short mustache, and his lips worked nervously.

"Say, kid, you don't mean----"

She nodded slowly. "It was all I could do. They searched me, and if I hadn't dropped the leather into that golf bag----"

He looked at her sharply.

"You're telling me you hid this purse in a golf bag that belonged to another party?"

"Sure I did. I'd have been pinched if I hadn't."

"Who was she--this lady?"

"Miss Thompson, Baxter's secretary."

"What?"

"That's right. That's why I'm here. Now you know the whole thing."

He stared at her in half suspicion.

"You young devil! Are you lying to me?" Then, suddenly, he remembered. "No, by Jimminy, you're not! You had her golf bag in your hands that day--by the looking-glass!"

Hester nodded. "In two more minutes I'd have had the purse out, if you'd left me alone."

"Then--then you saw the purse?" he questioned eagerly. "It's there--in the bag?"

Hester nodded again. "It was there."

"Five thousand pounds knocking around in a golf bag!" His small eyes burned with covetous fire. "And she knows nothing about it--this secretary?"

"Nothing."

Anton sat silent, running his fingers back through his hair over the white lock.

"I've got him worrying now," reflected the girl.

"And--where is the golf bag--now?" he asked.

"Mrs. Baxter borrowed it and left it at the club house."

"You found that out?"

"Yes."

"Where--in the club house?"

"In one of the lockers--Mrs. Baxter's locker."

"I see." He was silent again. "That was four days ago?"

"Yes."

"How many times has the bag been used?"

"How do I know?"

"Haven't you watched it? Haven't you tried to get it?"

"You make me tired! How could I watch it--or get it--out in the club house?"

The chauffeur looked at her pityingly.

"It's just as well you've got a man in this game, girlie. It won't take me long to get that bag out of the club house. See that clock?" He pointed to a timepiece ticking noisily on the wall. "It's half-past ten. Bet you twenty dollars against two smooth kisses that I have the bag here within an hour."

Hester laughed, half coquettishly. "I don't bet my kisses."

"No?" He leaned forward eagerly and caught one of her hands. "What do you do with them?"

"I--I keep them," she said with a teasing glance.

He held her hand a moment, her soft, warm hand, then pushed it from him roughly.

"We'll see about that later on. Now it's business. Come, kid!" He pointed to the car.

"You're not going to----?"

"We're going to the country club. Quick!"

"Suppose some one sees us?"

"There's nobody here that counts except Mr. Robert. We'll take a chance on him. If he says anything you tell him Mrs. Baxter left orders for you to bring back Miss Thompson's golf bag from the club. Get me?"

"Good work!" she nodded.

"Didn't think of that, did you, girlie?" He opened the polished door. "In you go--behind!"

Without further protest Hester seated herself on the comfortable leather cushions, and a moment later they were speeding down the drive.

"Oh! Stop at the lodge," she remembered. "I want to get my cloak."

Anton halted the car at the big gate and amused himself for a few moments making faces at An Petronia who was playing in the roadway. Then he asked her preposterous questions about her dollies. Could they swim? Did she let them go to moving picture shows? Were they allowed to smoke Turkish cigarettes? One of the chauffeur's favorite diversions was teasing An Petronia.

"Say, you took your time!" he remarked presently, when Hester reappeared arrayed in her familiar scarlet garment.

"Go on! I'll tell you why," she said in a low tone Then, when they were on the main road, "I thought I'd make sure there aren't any more letters lying around in my room that might make trouble."

He nodded his approval of this precaution. And now they were silent for two or three minutes, while the machine flew over a smooth mile leading to the country club.

"Do you know how you're going to work this boy?" she questioned anxiously, as they swung into the beautifully kept grounds of the Ippingford golf course.

"Sure! Mrs. Baxter has sent her maid, that's you, to get her golf bag. She wants the bag down at Brighton. And the bag's in Mrs. Baxter's locker."

"How about the key?"

"Mrs. Baxter has mislaid the key. The woman in charge of the locker room will open the locker for you. See?"

"I see," answered Hester, and as the car drew up under the white columned porch of the club house she hopped out nimbly. "I won't be a minute." Then she started eagerly for the door.

"Wait!" called Anton, with a flash of distrust. "Come back! I'll get the bag myself." And, passing her, he disappeared within the house just as a party of smartly dressed ladies came out and stood chatting and laughing on the broad piazza.

Hester climbed back into the auto and waited, biting her lips. And presently a hard-featured woman appeared, followed by the chauffeur carrying a golf bag. One glance showed the girl that it was _the_ golf bag--there was no doubt about it.

"Are you Mrs. Baxter's maid?" demanded the woman in a shrill voice, while the ladies stared.

"Yes."

"Your chauffeur says Mrs. Baxter told him to get this golf bag?"

"That's right," smiled Hester pleasantly.

The locker woman still seemed dissatisfied. "It's queer," she grumbled. "Mrs. Baxter told me to be careful of this bag because she had borrowed it."

"Exactly," smiled Hester, "and now Mrs. Baxter wants to return it. In here, please. Thank you." She placed the bag on the seat beside her and handed the woman a two-shilling piece. Then to Anton with a grand air, "Home, please. Mrs. Baxter is waiting."

Anton touched his cap respectfully, but did not move.

"I'll have to ask you to sit on the front seat, miss; one of the back springs is broken. Let me take this for you." And he placed the golf bag close to the steering wheel. With a movement of annoyance Hester followed the bag and seated herself next to the driver. Thus, side by side and mutually distrustful, they shot out of the grounds with Betty Thompson's much-coveted golf bag between them.

"We've turned the trick--we've got the goods," Anton whispered exultingly. Then, slowing up the machine, he peered down among the golf clubs. "Can you see it, kid?"

"Lean the bag toward me. That's right." She pushed open the clubs and gave a cry of satisfaction. "Ah! There! Way down at the bottom! Don't you see?"

The chauffeur looked again, and this time made out distinctly the fat, brown wallet, clasped by its elastic band, that was still lying safe in its singular hiding-place.

"Holy spoons," he muttered. "We've got it! You see what a little nerve will do."

"Didn't I help you out with the cranky dame?"

"You sure did. You were great, girlie." He gripped the wheel tighter as they passed an automobile. "We'd better turn off through the woods. Too many people here--and--we've got to talk things over."

"Talk what over?" she asked innocently.

He looked at her and was silent, his eyes drinking in the loveliness of her face and figure.

"Say, you certainly are a little beauty! You've got the reddest lips and the sweetest shape!" He slipped his left arm around the girl's lithe waist and drew her toward him. They were running slowly along the woodland road, through a grove of trees.

Hester only resisted slightly, but there was a tremor of unhappiness in her voice as she said: "You must think a lot of me when you wouldn't even trust me to go into the club house for the golf bag."

"Ah! You noticed that," he smiled complacently.

"Did I?" She nestled closer. "And you wouldn't let me have the bag on the back seat."

"Would you have left me alone with it--on the back seat? I'll bet you wouldn't. You're the sweetest kid I ever saw, Jenny, and I'm going to love you to death--yes, I am, but--wait!" He brought the car to a standstill in a deeply shaded spot by the road-side. Then, without further preliminaries, he caught her in his arms and tried to kiss her, while she struggled against him, turning away her face.

"No, I won't," she panted. "If you don't trust me enough to----"

"Trust you? Why should I trust you? You're a crook! And you're sore on me. Don't you suppose I know it? Hold on! Keep those two little hands where I can see 'em."

She looked at him indignantly. "Do you think I'd be silly enough to--try any funny work--here?"

"Do I think so? Don't make me laugh. There's a fortune in that golf bag and--come now! Put those two hands outside your cloak, one on top of the other. That's right. Now leave 'em there. I'm not taking any chances with you."

"This is a fine way to win a girl," she protested, but as if frightened, she left her neatly gloved hands crossed obediently before her.

"Don't you worry about the winning part," he laughed.

She faced him angrily. "You'll never have a chance to----"

But he did not let her finish. Clasping her again in his arms, he held her, struggling desperately, and, as he saw an opening, pressed his lips to her flaming cheeks, to her white forehead, and, finally, as his strength conquered hers, to her unwilling red mouth.

"There! I told you I would," he triumphed. "A man don't have to trust a girl to kiss her. We'll watch each other, Jenny, when we're doing business, but, say, this is pleasure, and--once more--God, I like your lips!"

He held her, unresisting now, his mouth crushed down upon hers, and, even as he feasted on her sweetness, he was sufficiently master of himself to note that her two hands were still crossed before her on her cloak.

A moment later, the long, hoarse whistle of the new paper mill in Ippingford warned him that time was passing.

"What! Twelve o'clock!" He listened. "This won't do. We must get a move on. I'll just fish this out, and then we'll hustle back."

He started to reach down into the golf bag, but Hester stopped him.

"Wait!" she ordered. "You say we'll watch each other. You're dead right, we will. And I want to know who's going to keep that purse if you take it out of the bag?"

"Don't be a fool! We'll divide the money and you can keep the purse for a souvenir."

"When will we divide the money?"

"As soon as we get to the garage."

"Why not now?"

He shook his head impatiently. "Because I'm late. Didn't you hear that whistle? Do you want to get me in bad with Baxter?"

She hesitated, watching him keenly. "Don't try to get gay with me, boy, for I'll do you up, sure. You know I've got something on you now."

He turned with a movement of alarm. "What?"

"If there's any trouble and it comes to a show down," she answered in a cold, even tone, "just remember that you're in this thing as deep as I am. You told that locker woman that Mrs. Baxter sent you for the golf bag, all those ladies heard it, and they saw you take the bag!"

"That's all right," he answered carelessly. "There won't be any trouble, if you do what I say."

"Go ahead, take the purse, but, remember, boy, if you wait one minute at the garage before dividing that money," she leaned close to him, and her black eyes blazed so fiercely that he started in alarm, "if you wait one minute, or try any flimflam game on me, Mr. Anton, you'll be sorry for it. That's all."

At this moment, just as Anton was about to brave her objections and transfer the purse from the bag to his pocket, the course of events was changed by the appearance of a barefooted small boy, who emerged unexpectedly from the woods and stood staring at them with a sort of dull impudence.

"That settles it," muttered the exasperated chauffeur. "We'll wait till we get to the garage." Then, stepping out, he cranked up the machine, and in a moment they were off at top speed.

Five minutes later they were back at Ipping House, and, as they passed the lodge, An Petronia called out shrilly to Anton that Mr. Robert Baxter was looking for him.

"I told you," frowned the chauffeur.

"Don't worry, boy. Get busy," urged Hester, as they stopped at the garage.

Leaving the car, they quickly entered the low building and closed the door behind them. Anton carried the golf bag, and, without further parley, laid it down on a work bench, and, reaching in his arm, drew forth the purse.

"Now I just want to say one thing, girlie, before we divide this money."

"Wait!" she warned him, lifting a hand. There was a quick step outside, then a click of the lock, and Anton had barely time to thrust the purse into his coat pocket when the door opened and Robert Baxter entered.

"What's going on here? Where have you been with the car?" the young man asked in sharp displeasure.

"Mrs. Baxter told Hester to get this golf bag, sir," answered the chauffeur. "Mrs. Baxter borrowed it from Miss Thompson, and she left it at the country club."

"Oh!" He turned to Hester. "You'd better take the bag to Miss Thompson's room."

"Yes, sir."

Hester picked up the golf bag and moved slowly toward the door, her eyes sending desperate messages to Anton. To which, as she passed out, he answered with a reassuring nod.

"I've been wanting the car myself," said Robert.

"I'm sorry, sir. We were delayed by a loose bolt in the rear frame. I must put in a new one."

"How long will it take?"

"I'll have to take the frame apart, sir. I'm afraid it will take me an hour."

"Very well. Bring up the car in an hour."

Anton touched his cap as young Baxter strolled off, leaving the garage door open.

The chauffeur waited a minute or so, looked about him cautiously, and then went back into a small storeroom in the rear, where he was sure of being alone and unobserved. He closed the door of the storeroom, locked it, and, at last, with a thrill of excitement, drew the bishop's purse from his pocket. He held it a moment in delicious expectation, then stripped off the elastic band and looked inside.

"Damnation!" he cried, and his face, was black with rage.

Then, dashing the empty purse to the ground, he flung open the door and strode angrily across the lawn in pursuit of Hester.